


The Battery

by snarky_saxophonist



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: All star break induced lack of baseball leads to this, Chicago Cubs, M/M, Mentions of the Yankees, it gets fluffy at the end, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 09:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11483628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_saxophonist/pseuds/snarky_saxophonist
Summary: Eighteen innings is a hell of a long game to catch, especially when the result is a loss and being swept. Willson doesn't think that anything good can possibly come of such a situation, but his team always has his back.





	The Battery

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this game was months ago. I'm sorry. It wouldn't leave me alone so I finally wrote this during the break.

Exhausted, battered, the Cubs hobble and trudge from the dugout back into the safety of their clubhouse. Javy is limping, leaning on Addi as he favors his hurt foot. Behind them, Rizz cradles his aching arm, while a concerned Kris hovers closely beside him. Heyward walks alone, features stony as he laments his inability to pinch hit and maybe turn the game around. Hendricks trails behind most of the team, head down and face expressionless. And Willson Contreras brings up the rear, trying to resist the urge to sink to the ground and finally rest his screaming knees. The team is quieter than usual, exhausted and demoralized, but Willson hardly notices, as he all but collapses into the chair in front of his locker. 

Maddon stands in the center of the locker room, telling them something about the game, but Willson can barely hear him over the rush of adrenaline leaving his system, leaving him utterly drained and spent. He clears out pretty quickly, though, probably to deal with the media, and they're left blissfully alone.

"Alright," Jon Lester snaps, standing up and glaring out at his teammates. "Rizz, Javy, J-Hey, you all need to go see PJ. We'll deal with the media, then y'all get checked out, then we've got a flight to catch and sleep to get before we go out and turn ourselves around. Got it?"

There are murmurs of assent from around the room, but there's not time for much more before the media is allowed in. Willson remains where he is, beyond grateful when they all head for players other than him. He knows that he'll eventually have to get up, but at the moment, he and his knees will take whatever break they can get. 

Willson vaguely registers the press trailing out of the room, followed by the team starting to make their way to the showers. Javy, near him, is arguing with Addi and Lester. Willson can't get his brain to fully focus on the words right now, but he seems to be arguing with them about going to see the trainer. Lester, even with his pitching arm in its usual post-game ice wrap, looks about ready to throw Javy over his shoulder and haul him to the trainer's room. Addi seems more than willing to help the pitcher, but before it can come to force, Zobrist joins the discussion. It only takes a few words from him before Javy turns and limps out of the room, leaving Addi to exasperatedly throw his hands in the air and stalk off to the showers.

Someone stops in front of Willson, and it takes him a moment to look up and register Kyle Hendricks standing there.

"Hey," Willson says questioningly, blinking a few times to try to focus in on Kyle.

"Are you alright?" Kyle asks, frowning down at him.

"I'm fine," Willson assures him, making to stand up. He only gets about halfway up before his knees protest more than he'd expected, and he sits back down hard.

"You don't look very fine," Kyle's frown is deeper now, dark eyes intense. "Maybe I should go get PJ."

"I'm fine," Willson insists, this time succeeding in standing up. He grimaces at the fire in his knees, but stays on his feet. "I'm just tired from catching two games." 

"You can barely stand up," Kyle points out, frown not lessening.

"I caught eighteen innings," Willson reiterates, slowly dropping into his crouch and standing back up so Kyle can enjoy the audible cracking and popping of Willson's joints. "My body isn't thrilled with that at the moment."

"Are you sure you shouldn't go get checked out?" Kyle asks, looking skeptical. "That really doesn't sound good. At the very least, you could get some heat or ice packs to help."

"Or I can go take a hot shower and then ice them when I get to the hotel," Willson counters. Yes, his knees hurt like hell at the moment, but he knows his body, and they'll be fine after a day of rest and ice and heat. Everything will work out, unless Joe decides to torture him and put him in the lineup later today, in which case he might consider going to see the trainer to point out that his knees aren't up to catching a third game on less than eight hours of sleep. 

Kyle looks unhappy about that, but he doesn't protest, simply saying mildly, "Take care of yourself."

"I'll be fine," Willson smiles slightly to back up his words.

"Whatever you say," Kyle mutters, but he waits for Willson to start hobbling his way to the showers before he follows. 

The hot water feels amazing on his aching body, and Willson spends too long in there, considering they have a flight to catch. He figures he has a little extra time, though, because seemingly half the team has to get checked out before they can leave. 

Sure enough, the team is still waiting in the locker room when Willson gets back, and Rizzo, Javy, and J-Hey are nowhere to be seen.

"How're you doing?" Miggy asks when Willson drops gratefully back into his chair, digging through his locker for a bottle of Advil and quickly swallowing a couple.

"Really hoping you start tomorrow," Willson admits, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Can you wake me up when we need to leave?"

"Yeah, of course," Miggy sounds concerned, but Willson is preoccupied by the fact that he's already drifting off.

 

"Willy," a voice says, accompanied by something gently prodding at his shoulder. "Willson, I'm pretty sure you don't want to have to walk to Denver, so you should probably get up."

"No," Willson mumbles, but blinks slowly, trying to get his brain back online. Kris is standing in front of him, looking almost as exhausted as Willson feels. 

"C'mon, the flight is leaving shortly," Kris says, offering him a hand up. Willson takes it, hauling himself up with a groan as his knees protest fiercely. 

"Thanks," Willson mumbles, grimacing as he grabs his bag out of his locker. 

"You okay?" Kris asks, giving him a once-over. Before he can stop himself, Willson shoots Kris a snarky look, prompting a tired laugh from the third baseman. "Yeah, okay, stupid question. Aside from catching eighteen innings and being dead, are you okay?"

"Nothing some sleep can't fix," Willson says around a yawn, but staggers when he tries to walk forwards. "I'm fine," he assures Kris before he can open his mouth. "Just stumbled a little bit."

"That, or your legs are about to fall off after catching for two games," Miggy puts in, stealing Willson's bag from him. Willson opens his mouth to protest, but Miggy beats him to it. "If you'll notice, none of the exhausted people from this game are carrying their bags. You can barely walk, let me take your stuff."

Willson looks around to find that, sure enough, most of the game's starters are unburdened. Javy is still limping along with Addi supporting him, J-Hey again scowling behind them. Lester has ditched the ice wrap, as it's now been hours since he pitched, but some of the bullpen is handling the four starters' bags. Bryant, already across the locker room again, has both his and Rizzo's bags, and is scowling at anybody who looks like they'll suggest he relinquish his load. Rizzo is still cradling his left arm, now with ice pressed to it.

"And since Miggy's got your bag, I've got you," Kyle Hendricks' voice comes from behind him. The pitcher, also empty-handed, wraps an arm around Willson, prompting Willson to sling his arm over Kyle's shoulders. 

"Thanks," he mutters to his pitcher when they start heading towards the bus, leaning heavily on Kyle as his knees protest every step. He knows it'll feel significantly better after getting some sleep, but right now, they've stiffened up because of his brief nap and hurt even worse. The Advil seems to have done less than nothing, and he almost wishes he'd gone to see PJ to see if he could've done anything to help. It's too late now, though, so he focuses on gritting his teeth and staggering along with Kyle. 

Willson usually sits towards the middle of the bus with Miggy so they can go over the calls from the game, but he doesn't protest when Kyle ushers him into one of the first rows and sits down beside him. He's not sure he's awake enough right now to remember any of his calls, anyways. 

"Do you-" Willson starts to ask Kyle, but breaks off halfway through to let out a huge yawn, wincing at the pull on his aching jaw from when Castro had run over him.

"Whatever you were going to ask," Kyle says, "the answer is 'go to sleep.'"

"It's less than an hour to the airport," Willson protests, but he's pretty sure he's fighting a losing battle against both Kyle and himself.

"So? There are things called naps," Kyle says. "Actually, wait, don't nap just yet." 

With the last of the team on the bus, the coaches and trainers are now getting on. Kyle stands, going over to where PJ is sitting and gesturing over at Willson. PJ and Kyle trade places, the pitcher perching next to Ed while PJ heads over to Willson. His glare at Hendricks elicits only a raised eyebrow before he turns back around.

"So," PJ says, sliding into the seat next to Willson. "Hendricks says you're having some issues with your knees."

"I'm not having issues with them," Willson says as evenly as he can. "They're just stiff and sore because I caught eighteen innings."

"Then you won't mind if I check it out quickly," PJ says. Willson nods reluctantly, shooting another ineffective glare at the back of Hendricks' head. 

PJ rolls up the leg of Willson's pants and gently palpates the sore tissue. Willson holds himself stiffly, trying not to wince at the pressure. The trainer has him bend it a few times as best he can on the cramped bus, frowning at the popping noises that elicits. 

"You're right, it doesn't seem to be anything more serious than a little bit of inflammation and tension," PJ concurs when he finishes his informal exam. "When we get to the hotel, stop by and see me to get some ice, and take Advil to help with the inflammation. Elevate them while you sleep if you can, and I'll tell Joe that you're not available to catch tomorrow. No, not even a couple of innings late in the game," he says before Willson can get his protest out. "You can pinch hit or play a different position, but your knees need a break."

"Okay," Willson agrees reluctantly. He wasn't really expecting to be catching tomorrow, but he doesn't like being told that he's not allowed to at all. 

"Come see me tomorrow, we'll work on them a bit and you should be fine to go by the next game," PJ says, patting Willson on the shoulder as he gets up to return to his initial seat. Hendricks exchanges a few words with him, then comes back to sit down next to Willson.

"You didn't have to do that," Willson mutters to Kyle. 

"It seemed like it was getting worse, and I was concerned," Kyle defends himself.

"It's fine," Willson says. "He says it's not a big deal."

"And yet you can't be catching tomorrow," Kyle points out. "Look, I know you said that it's fine, and I believed you, but I wanted to make sure. I don't like seeing you in pain."

"Alright," Willson sighs. "I understand, I just... I don't know. I wish we'd won and I wish my knees didn't hurt so I could play tomorrow."

"Hey, at least you didn't strike out to end the game," Kyle says lightly, but there's an undercurrent of something else in his voice. "It's one game, Willy. I know it never feels good when we've just gotten swept, but we'll get it together again. You'll only be out one game if you take the day tomorrow, and I want you to be healthy so you can play as much as possible.

"I know," Willson says, yawning again and leaning his head against Kyle's shoulder. "I hate this sometimes."

"It does have its rough moments," Kyle concedes. "It'll look better in the morning. Well, the later morning. Take a nap now, I'll wake you up when we get to the airport."

"Thanks," Willson mutters sleepily, eyes already sliding shut as he drifts into sleep for the second time in a few hours.

 

"Willy, we've got to go to the plane now," Hendricks' voice draws him out of his exhausted, dreamless sleep. 

"Damn," Willson says under his breath, grimacing at the prospect of having to get up again. 

"Let me help you," Kyle says, offering Willson a hand up. Willson takes it gratefully, groaning at the cracking in his knees as he hauls himself to his feet. Kyle lets him lean on him as he had before, steering them through the airport so Willson doesn't have to worry about making his brain work, can just stare blearily at the ground as he tries to keep his legs moving forward. The walk to the plane, usually a trivial distance, seems miles long. Willson sees a few reporters taking pictures from afar, and grimaces at the thought of the speculation about him.

"Hey, you okay?" Kyle asks, spotting his grimace. "Need a break?"

"No, I'm fine," Willson shakes his head. "I'm just not looking forward to what everyone seeing the pictures of me hobbling along with you will be saying come tomorrow." 

Kyle stiffens almost imperceptibly, but continues to walk forward. "What do you mean?"

"They'll all be talking about whatever my supposed injury is," Willson says, wondering what Kyle thought he meant. 

"Oh, right," Kyle says. "I'm sure Joe will clear up any rumors tomorrow, though."

"Yeah, when I'm not available even off the bench," Willson grumbles. "That'll show them that I'm perfectly fine."

"Don't sweat it, Willy," the pitcher reassures him. "They'll always be speculating about something, right? And you'll be back behind the plate in a game or two, so that should shut it down mostly."

"I don't want people thinking I'm weak," Willson mutters. "Most catchers wouldn't be staggering along with the help of a teammate just because of extra innings."

"You're not weak," Kyle says vehemently. "You caught two baseball games in a row! Anyone would be in some pain after that. Their guy didn't catch the whole game, after all."

"I guess," Willson agrees. "I just feel like I should be up and ready to go, not staggering and in pain."

"There's no shame in being hurt," Kyle reminds him gently. "You're not Superman, unfortunately. You're allowed to be sore and to need a day off."

"Can I be allowed to not climb up these stairs?" Willson asks, glaring at the stairs leading up to the plane.

Kyle laughs sympathetically. "If you can figure out how to fly in the next several seconds, sure. Otherwise, why don't you go ahead and use the handrails and I'll follow behind you just in case."

Willson does as suggested, shifting his grip from Kyle's shoulder to the flimsy metal rails that don't feel anywhere close to strong enough to support him. His knees protest each step as he hauls himself up, but Kyle's hand gently presses against his back in a silent show of support. He tries to hustle as much as possible so he doesn't slow the team up more than he already has, but 'hustle' is not a word in his body's vocabulary at the moment. Slog, maybe. Or trudge. 

Whatever you want to call his locomotion, Willson does eventually succeed in making it onto the plane. His faster-moving teammates have thoughtfully left the first few rows open, so he can stagger just a few more steps before dropping unceremoniously into a seat. 

"Hi," a voice greets him about an inch from his ear as soon as Willson sits down. He startles, jerking forwards instinctively before turning around to see who was talking to him. It's Rizzo, of course, grinning exhaustedly.

"Why," Willson says flatly instead of greeting him in kind. He knows that Rizzo will take it as the lighthearted joking it's meant as, even if Willson is too dead to add his usual smile.

Rizzo's smile fades. "Wanted to ask how you're doing. You didn't actually get hurt or anything, right? It's just from catching?"

"Yeah, just crouching for hours and constantly having to get up and back down," Willson says. "Be fine in a day or so."

"Hey, good on you for being able to do that," Rizzo says earnestly. "I'm tired just from standing at first base after that game, I can't even imagine catching. And look, you need anything, you let me know, okay? We'll take care of it, let you get some rest so you can recover."

"Thanks," Willson says around a yawn. "You don't need to do that, but thanks. How's your arm?"

"It-"

"-hurts more than he's willing to admit, but will be fine," Kris butts in before Anthony can get any further. Rizzo gives him an exasperated look, but Kris just grins at him. "What, am I wrong?"

"No," Rizzo admits, smacking Kris in the head with his bag of ice. Kris snatches it from him, grabbing Anthony's arm and pressing the ice to it. 

"Keep it there," he instructs, rolling his eyes at Willson in fond exasperation. "My head does not need ice, unless you whack me repeatedly with it, in which case we've got bigger issues, bud."

"Please do not break each other more," Kyle says from beside Willson, making the catcher jump. He hadn't even noticed him sitting down, a testament to how exhausted he still is. "We're battered enough as is after this game, don't make it worse."

"Yes, Professor," Rizzo nods seriously, nudging Kris until he echoes him. 

"Shush and sleep, all of you," Kyle says, but Willson sees amusement hidden in his dark eyes. "I don't want to hear complaining when you have to go out and play tomorrow and didn't get enough sleep."

"Says the guy who doesn't have to work everyday," Rizzo grumbles under his breath, but smiles at Kyle to lighten his words.

"Mock me all you want, you're going to regret it if you don't sleep," Kyle says mildly, already turning away from Rizzo to dig out his phone and earbuds. Willson yawns again, pulling his sweatshirt tighter around him as he tries to get comfortable. Giving up, he leans his head against Kyle's shoulder for the second time that night, smiling against the pitcher's shirt when Kyle lifts a hand to ruffle his hair. Kyle's warm and has an unfairly comfortable shoulder, so it takes him no time to fall asleep, with just a fleeting hope that he doesn't drool on his pitcher. 

 

This time, Willson is not woken gently by a teammate; it's Kris's quietly vehement swearing from right behind him. Willson sighs and disentangles himself from Kyle's warmth to see what has their third baseman in distress. Kyle had draped an arm across his shoulders while he slept, and he misses the warm comfort as soon as he removes it. Rizzo is fast asleep when Willson turns around, snoring faintly into a pillow. Kris is sitting ramrod straight, swearing repeatedly under his breath as the plane bucks and shakes underneath him. 

"Hey, Kris," Willson says quietly so as to not disturb the slumbering teammates around them. A quick glance out the window reveals that they're not far from the airport, thankfully. Kris's gaze latches onto him, but he doesn't say anything. "Just a little, uh, bumpiness," Willson's sleepy brain blanks on the right word, but Kris seems to not notice, eyes flickering to the window. Willson gestures at it, hoping that'll help calm Kris down. Although Rizzo is great at handling Kris's fear of flying, there's no way Willson is going to wake him up for this. "Look, we're on the ground almost. Statistically, there's very small chance that we crash now," Willson says, English coming slowly to him as he tries to wake up his mind and keep from saying the wrong thing.

"I know," Kris says quietly, blue eyes still bright with panic. "Never seems to help though."

"Would holding my hand help?" Willson offers before he thinks it through. The American players are usually less tactile, and although Kris is a big hugger, Willson isn't totally sure that his offer won't offend for some reason or another. 

Thankfully, though, Kris nods, and Willson snakes his hand back between the seats. Kris grabs onto it like a lifeline, squeezing it just slightly too hard to be pleasant. Willson doesn't protest, instead giving Kris the most reassuring smile he can manage. He must fail abysmally, because Kris actually laughs a little at him.

"You look completely dead inside," Kris tells him, managing his own small smile that doesn't look completely like a grimace.

"Yeah, you try being a catcher," Willson retorts, sticking his tongue out. "My legs died, and their dead infected my face."

This gets another quiet laugh out of Kris, and Willson subtly fist-pumps with his spare hand at his success. That is, until the plane pitches again and Kris's face goes white as a baseball, his grip on Willson's hand tightening. 

"We're about to land," Willson tries to reassure him. "It's Colorado, isn't it always like this?"

"Yes, but that doesn't make it any better," Kris mutters, staring resolutely out the window at the ground getting closer and closer. 

"Even if something happened now, we'd probably make it safely since we're so close already," Willson tries, wincing internally as he says it. "But, of course, nothing is going to happen. We'll land in a minute, it'll be fine."

"I can't die with my last game being a loss to the Yankees," Kris hisses, some of the fear in his eyes being replaced by frustration. 

"Your last game will be a World Series win over the Yankees when you're old and ready to retire," Willson says quickly, eager to make up for his earlier blunder. 

"Isn't that the dream?" Kris smiles slightly, and Willson thanks God that the plane chooses that moment to touch down. Kris takes a deep breath and visibly relaxes, shoulders lowering and loosening his grip on Willson's hand. "I didn't break your hand or anything, did I? Sorry."

"You're fine," Willson assures him, extracting his hand and trying to unobtrusively shake it out. "And we made it."

"You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to being in a bed," Kris remarks. 

"Probably about as much as I am," Willson says.

"Ah, yeah," Kris agrees with a rueful smile. "Schedule really sucks sometimes, doesn't it?"

"You could say that," Willson says, tapping Kyle on the shoulder to wake him up. 

"Could say what?" Kyle asks sleepily, blinking up at Willson.

"Nothing, I was talking to Kris," Willson tells him. "We landed."

"Thanks, I noticed," Kyle says, stretching. "You feeling any better?"

Willson takes a moment to evaluate how his knees feel. They're a little less painful than before, but still sore and stiff. "I think I can hobble around on my own now," he tells Kyle, bending them a few times to test it. 

"Good," Kyle nods approvingly, standing up and grabbing their bags. He offers Willson a hand up anyways, which he takes to be on the safe side. His knees crack painfully as he stands, prompting a raised eyebrow from Kyle. 

"I'm fine, really," Willson says, shaking out his legs in an attempt to loosen them up a little. It doesn't work, but he gives Kyle a smile to try to reassure him. 

"Whatever you say," Kyle says, stepping out into the aisle and gesturing for Willson to walk ahead of him. Willson goes slowly, but he feels a lot less like his knees are going to buckle underneath him this time. The stairs are still an unpleasant experience, and he can feel Kyle's presence behind him, hovering anxiously. Willson smiles slightly to himself at his pitcher's concern, and finds himself wondering, not for the first time, if that concern could ever be born of something more than friendship. Distracted, he trips on the last step, nearly face-planting on the wet tarmac. Kyle grabs his arm at the last moment, giving Willson an extra second to regain his balance. 

"You alright?" Kyle asks, keeping his hand on Willson's arm and wrapping his other hand around Willson’s shoulder to steady him. Willson leans against Kyle for a moment to make sure he's not going to fall over, and maybe to take advantage of being able to press himself against Kyle's solid muscle. 

"Just tripped," Willson shrugs, starts to pull away from Kyle. The pitcher holds onto him a moment longer, something unreadable in his dark eyes. 

"Be careful," Kyle admonishes him. "Catching you is not in my job description."

"No, that's my job," Willson agrees, falling into step next to Kyle. 

"True," Kyle laughs, giving Willson a smile. Though it's a small smile, the look in Kyle's eyes warms Willson even as he shivers in the chilly Denver air. Kyle's expression goes carefully blank the next moment, confusing Willson. "Hey, I gotta go talk to Miggy, you good?" 

"Yeah," Willson stares after Kyle as he hurries away, wondering what he'd just done wrong. Kyle had seemed happy, even smiling and laughing with him after a shitty loss, so clearly something had changed.

Willson's distraction over his pitcher costs him again as he trips over an uneven patch of ground, abused knees buckling under him. He curses mentally as he starts to fall, knowing that this normally would have been nothing, his knees usually more than capable of handling the loss of balance.

"Whoa!" There are suddenly arms on both of Willson's, hauling him back up before he can land painfully on the tarmac. 

"Okay?" Hector asks Willson. 

"Just tripped," Willson mutters for what feels for the fiftieth time that night, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"Looked like it was going to be pretty grim there for a moment if we hadn't swooped in," Justin Grimm jokes from Willson's other side. Rizzo, passing by, swats Grimm gently on the shoulder.

"No puns this early in the morning, please," he begs. "I can't truly appreciate them right now."

"Alright, I'll save the grim puns for when it isn't so dim out," Justin says, drawing an exaggerated groan from Anthony.

Grimmer and Hector stick close to Willson as he makes his slow way through the airport. Willson wishes he could protest his babysitters, but the night's events have already proved that that would be as stupid as it would be futile. He resolves to be gracious and accept the help he needs, as much for his teammates' sakes as for his own. If he can make them feel a little more in control after a loss, he'll take it. Kyle has already helped him deal with the game, and Willson is happy to pass along the favor any way he can. The loss wasn't either of their faults, but Willson knows there's nothing like the feeling of helplessness when you did the best you could but it still wasn't enough. 

"Did you have any calls from the game you wanted to go over?" He asks Justin.

Justin chuckles and gently pats Willson on the shoulder. "No, your calls were good, buddy. This loss isn't on you. Just relax for tonight and worry about all that tomorrow."

"Sorry," Willson mutters around a yawn. He always wants to talk baseball, especially with his pitchers and Miggy, to go over every moment of the game and figure out what they can do better, but not all his teammates want that all the time.

"You're good," Justin reassures him. "I'm happy to go over it if you want to, but you look so tired right now."

"Okay," Willson says, a little relieved. He'd be willing to go over the calls, but Justin is right, he's exhausted at the moment.

"You need help?" Hector asks when they reach the bus, gesturing at the stairs.

"No, but if you would stand behind me just in case, that would be helpful," Willson says, holding tightly onto the handrails to enter the bus. If he doesn't get an elevator at the hotel, he might just cut his legs off. 

He can sense his shadows sticking right behind him as his knees loudly pop and crack on his way up. Kyle is sitting alone in one of the front rows, but Willson hesitates, uncertain if he's welcome to sit there after Kyle had run off earlier. Before he can deliberate too long, though, Kyle looks up, raising an eyebrow and gesturing at Willson to sit down. 

"Why'd you go talk to Miggy?" Willson asks, curiosity winning out over politeness in his exhausted state.

"To switch rooms with him," Kyle explains, thankfully not seeming too put out by Willson's question. 

"Huh?" Willson asks, frowning in confusion. "Why?"

"Because, uh," Kyle looks panicked for a rare second, his usual composure gone. "Um, y'know, Miggy's starting tomorrow, and we aren't, obviously, yeah."

"What?" Willson asks blankly.

"He should get more sleep," Kyle says, sounding more like his normal self, "and if something happens or you need help with anything, it doesn't matter if I get a little less sleep."

"Okay," Willson says hesitantly, wondering why Kyle had floundered in coming up with that answer. 

"I can go switch back if you don't want-" Kyle says hastily, making as if to get up.

"No, it's fine," Willson assures him. "I was just wondering."

"If you're sure," Kyle says, still looking concerned. 

"I'm not planning on doing anything but sleeping," Willson admits, trying to push down his desire to do more than that with Kyle. "Otherwise I will be completely nonfunctional tomorrow." 

"You're not starting, why would you need to be functional?" Kyle points out. 

"If something goes wrong," Willson shrugs. "I dunno."

"Fair enough," Kyle concedes, lapsing into silence. Willson sighs, exhaustion weighing him down and clouding his thoughts. There's still something off about Kyle's demeanor right now, but he can't for the life of him figure out what it is. Maybe it's something about his game-ending strikeout, something about the losses piling up when nobody expected them to, something about the tiredness Willson can sense emanating from the whole team at times. Or maybe it's more simple than that, just exhaustion after a long game and concern for his battered team. Willson feels he has a pretty good sense for his pitchers now, though, and it seems like it's something more than that. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Willson asks Kyle, nudging him gently until the pitcher turns to look at him.

"I'm not the one who caught two ball games in a row," Kyle shrugs it off. 

"Yeah, but you had to pinch hit," Willson says, trying to approach Kyle's game-ending strikeout tactfully.

"You mean how I struck out to give us the loss?" Kyle asks bluntly. "I'm not happy about it, and I wish I'd gotten a hit obviously, but it's okay. We lose as a team."

"You're so calm about that," Willson remarks. "What's actually bothering you, then?"

"Who says something is actually bothering me?" Kyle goes stiff again, doing nothing to help his argument.

"There's something on your mind," Willson prods. "I'm your catcher, you're supposed to talk to me."

"It's nothing you can help with," Kyle sighs. "But it'll be fine, I'll get over them-uh, it."

"Pining after a girl?" Willson asks lightly, trying to stomp down his own feelings and ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"No," Kyle says abruptly, looking away from Willson. "Not a-no."

"Any girl would be lucky to have you," Willson says, plastering a smile on his face and bumping Kyle's shoulder.

"Willy, please, don't," Kyle says miserably. "I know you want to help, but trust me, you can't."

"A guy, then?" Willson can't help but press. Kris and Rizzo had tried to hide their relationship for awhile, worried about bad reactions in the clubhouse, but everybody had been supportive when they'd found out. "You know the team is fine with that."

Kyle stares down at his hands for a moment, then squares his shoulders and meets Willson's gaze. "I know they're fine with it, but there's a difference in locker rooms between having two guys who are into guys but who are clearly in love with each other and uninterested in others, and a single guy who's into guys."

"Well, if they have a problem, they're stupid," Willson declares. "I'm not with anyone, and the guys on the team who know about me are fine."

"You're-" Kyle looks surprised. "Sorry, I shouldn't pry."

"You're fine," Willson shrugs. "Most don't know, but I'm not trying to hide it. I like both guys and girls."

"Thanks for trusting me," Kyle says. "I, uh, me too. I'm bisexual, so, um, I like both too. But, uh, I don't think I'm ready for the whole team to know."

"Of course," Willson agrees readily. "I understand. In Venezuela, people are not so accepting. I didn't tell anyone until I was here." In truth, Willson had never allowed himself to breathe a word about what he'd seen as shameful feelings until he'd already cemented his place on the Cubs last season. He'd broken down crying on Rizzo's shoulder one night after realizing his feelings for Kyle, certain that his new teammates and family would hate him if they ever found out. Rizzo had, of course, handled the whole thing perfectly, assuring Willson that his feelings weren't shameful and that the team wouldn't hate him for it.

"Right, yeah," Kyle looks sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

"It's not something you did," Willson says. "But this was not what was bothering you. There's a guy you like?"

"Yes, but he's not interested," Kyle's face goes carefully blank again.

"He doesn't like guys?" Willson asks, resisting the urge to sigh. He's not proud to admit it, but he's jealous of this unknown man who has captured his pitcher's affections. 

"He does, but he's not interested in me," Kyle says.

"Have you asked him? You never know for sure unless you ask."

"No, I haven't, but trust me, he's not. I would know if he was," Kyle looks distinctly uncomfortable as the conversation wears on, and Willson decides that they're both too tired for this conversation to drag on much longer. 

"Well, if you ever want me to go tell him what he's missing out on, you let me know," Willson says, patting Kyle on the knee.

"I think I'll pass, but thanks for the offer," Kyle nods. "I appreciate it."

"Anything for a teammate," Willson gives Kyle one last look, then allows his smile to finally drop off his face. "But maybe not tonight."

"I'll take care of you for tonight, and you can look out for me the rest of the time," Kyle suggests. "Need help getting up?"

"We'll see," Willson says, glancing out the window to see that they're thankfully right near the doors to the hotel. He grips the seat in front of him and hauls himself up. His knees crack unpleasantly, but they're no worse than they were before, so he says as much to Kyle. The pitcher gives him a little space, but continues hovering close enough to help if necessary. 

"If the elevator doesn't work for some reason I'm going to stab someone," Grimm remarks as they all trudge over to the entrance to check in.

"Aw, don't be so violent there, Reaper," Rizzo teases him. "Things don't look so grim for you compared to, say, poor Willson over here. You'd carry him up the stairs, right?"

"Sorry, Willson, I think I'd have to pass on that one," Grimm shoots him a tired smile. "Catchers are the ones who carry their pitchers, right?"

"Not tonight," Willson groans. "I can't even carry myself. I can start saving your guys' asses again tomorrow."

"Damn right," Lackey grunts, tapping his foot impatiently as they wait to check in. 

"You saying your ass needs help from a catcher?" Lester ribs him tiredly. 

"No, I was talking about your next start," Lackey snaps back. "Gotta have someone to get runners out for you."

"Yeah," Lester agrees unrepentantly. "And my catcher's damn good at doing that."

"On days when I can get up from my crouch, sure," Willson says, leaning against the wall to take some of the weight off his knees. "Right now? Not so much."

"No, you gotta throw out a runner right now, in the middle of this hotel lobby," Rizzo says sarcastically. "C'mon, Willson, get to it."

"I'd hit you for that comment, but I think Chappy already took care of that for me," Willson says. "The only person I'm going to be throwing out now is anybody who prevents me from sleeping soon."

"Looks like good news on that front," Grimm nods at the stacks of key cards being passed over the front desk. 

"I'll go get ours," Kyle says before Willson can manage to peel himself off his supportive wall. He mumbles something that is intended to be a thanks, but probably just comes out as gibberish. He uses the time waiting for Kyle to get back to slowly get his legs under him again, staggering the first couple of steps as he adapts to walking again. 

"Almost there," Kyle says, putting a hand on Willson's back. "You get priority space in the elevator, too."

"Maybe we should let another group go up first, it's gonna take me a little while to get over there," Willson suggests.

"Nope, you and the other hurt people get to go up first so you can get to bed sooner," Kyle says, steering Willson through the team. Most of them are already over by the elevators, but the only ones on it are Javy and Addi, J-Hey, and Kris and Rizz. 

"Welcome to the cripple crew," Rizzo jokes, giving Willson a tired smile. "We get to share a floor with the trainers and get the shorter trek down the stairs if there's a fire."

"Yay," Javy mutters unenthusiastically. "Addi, you get to carry me down if that happens."

"You too," Willson nudges Kyle. "I'm not walking down three flights of stairs."

"Let's just hope that doesn't happen," Kyle says, rubbing his hand along Willson's back a few times. Willson yawns, leaning tiredly into Kyle. It speaks to the exhaustion of the entire team that they're all silent, because normally Rizz, at least, would be chatting up a storm and getting their spirits back up after the loss. He looks just as tired as Willson feels, though, half-supported by Kris as he closes his eyes for the trip. 

"We're in 4012, c'mon," Kyle says gently, leading Willson out of the elevator. "Oh, it's right there."

"Great," Willson mutters around yet another yawn as Kyle unlocks the door. It's a pretty generic hotel room, but the only thing Willson cares about is the relatively comfortable-looking beds. "You can use the bathroom first."

"No, I think you should, because otherwise you'll be asleep before you can," Kyle says, handing Willson his bag and waving him on. "I've gotta run and talk to Rizz for a second, I'll be right back."

"Okay," Willson frowns at his retreating back, wondering why he keeps running out and acting so strangely. He's so tired, and he just wants to sleep and not worry about what's going on with his new roommate. He figures he'll make one more attempt to ask Kyle what's going on when he gets back, then give up on it for the night. 

Kyle returns just as Willson is leaving the bathroom, looking more like his normal self, although there's still something weird in his eyes. 

"Hey," Willson greets him with the closest thing he can manage to a smile. "You okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Kyle's tight-lipped smile looks even less genuine than Willson's. "Just had a question for Rizzo about, uh, y'know, helping you."

"Um, okay," Willson frowns, wondering why on earth Kyle would need to ask Rizzo that, especially in person instead of texting. "Then why'd you switch rooms with Miggy?" Willson asks again, taking a shaky step towards Kyle, who reaches out to steady him.

"So he could get some sleep and not have to worry about helping if you needed something, I already told you," Kyle says again, swallowing and looking down at his hand on Willson's arm. "What, am I not allowed to help out my friend?"

"So there's nothing more to this than being a good friend?" Willson asks.

Kyle swallows. "Why, what do you want it to be?"

"More than friendship," Willson says, too exhausted to care about being overly blunt on a sensitive topic like this and praying that he’s been reading Kyle’s cues right.

"Oh," Kyle says, a rare smile breaking out over his features. "Oh. That's good."

"Yeah?" Willson takes another half step forward, uses his knees as an excuse to put his hands on Kyle's shoulders and lean into him.

"Yeah," Kyle echoes. "Because I'm also interested in there being more."

Willson isn't sure who kisses the other first, but as Kyle's soft lips press against his own, he can't be bothered to care. The kiss is gentle and sloppy, the two of them both nearly dead on their feet, but it makes Willson's knees go weak regardless. Or maybe that's just his knees finally giving up on him after the day. Kyle catches him, a hand around Willson's waist and one accidentally grabbing his ass. It startles a laugh out of Willson, and he leans against Kyle, laughing incoherently.

"Okay, you're done," Kyle says, adjusting his grip to pick Willson up and carry him across the room to the bed before Willson can protest. "You're not moving out of that bed until morning, no matter what."

"I'm supposed to get ice from PJ," Willson protests, still feeling the residual warmth from Kyle's hands on him. 

Kyle sighs, but he can't keep the small smile off his lips as he bends down to kiss Willson on the cheek. "Well, I guess I'd better do that."

"Hurry back," Willson whines, smiling at Kyle's retreating back and running a finger over his lips as soon as the door closes behind him. The sweep and eighteen inning loss were brutal, but if it leads to this finally happening between him and Kyle, it'll be more than worth it. Willson takes advantage of the time alone to snag all the pillows from the second bed and use them to elevate his knees, and hopefully help convince Kyle to share his bed for the night. Not that they'll be able to do much more than cuddle at most, given how dead Willson is, but hey, he'll take what he can get. 

"Wow, that looks comfortable," Kyle says dryly when he returns. If he notices Willson's ever-so-subtle tactic of stealing all his pillows, he doesn't comment, instead tossing the ice packs in Willson's general direction before rummaging through his bag and heading to the bathroom. Groaning as he sits up to position the ice on his knees, Willson flops back into the pillows as soon as blessed numbness starts to seep into his aching joints. 

"You are my favorite person right now," he proclaims, blowing a kiss across the room towards Kyle as he emerges from the bathroom. 

"Your favorite person is currently missing pillows, so it seems like he'll have to share with you," Kyle says with a faint smile as he changes into a faded Dartmouth t-shirt.

"Oh," Willson feigns ignorance. "What a pity."

"Yeah, sure," Kyle says sarcastically, plugging his phone in and sliding into bed next to Willson. "If your goal was to try to get me to do anything other than sleep, I'm afraid it's not going to work."

"I don't think I'm capable of doing anything other than sleeping right now," Willson admits. "I wouldn't say no to cuddling, though."

"Logistically, how is that going to work?" Kyle asks. "With your knees?"

Willson glares at the offending joints, cursing the fact that they have to be elevated. 

"I maybe didn't think this through," he sighs. "I guess not then."

"No, we can make it somewhat work," Kyle insists, shuffling and gently nudging Willson so he's lying at a slight angle, leaning against Kyle's shoulder. "That work?" He asks, wrapping his arm around Willson.

"Works for me, you're comfy," Willson answers around a yawn, smiling slightly. "We should talk."

"Tomorrow," Kyle says, kissing Willson's temple. "This is enough for now, right?"

"Yes," Willson smiles, tilting his face up so he can properly kiss Kyle. "This is more than enough."

**Author's Note:**

> And the next day they actually talk and decide to start dating, and the Cubs start winning more games, and Kyle doesn't go on the DL, and everything's great.


End file.
